


The Golden Queen

by Joycewrites, Keyboardwielding_Squid



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joycewrites/pseuds/Joycewrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keyboardwielding_Squid/pseuds/Keyboardwielding_Squid
Summary: Oh Brave New World, what a marvelous thing you are. Yet there is no place in you for the echoes of the past, so the greatness of the new gods is destined to dash against the rocks of the human memory.
Relationships: Prophet | Prophetess / Tharaêl
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first part was my one and only entry for the Fictober, prompt “I can’t come back” in the "Brave New World" setting. Second part I wrote this spring.
> 
> Huge thanks goes to @Keyboardwielding_Squid for helping me with translating and editing the first part.
> 
> As English is not my native language, second part probably has some mistakes I've missed - you are welcome to point them out.

Liquid gold flows into her eyes, leaving their native silver to dissolve and melt like wax.

He was against this decision.

His body ages and ages, then he wakes up in a new one. She calls it perfection. Calls it her masterpiece. So he breaks his promise. He tries to kill himself again. And again. And again.

He never quite succeeds.

Golden cloth rustles around her legs when she rises from her throne. Golden rings twinkle and tinkle every time she raises a hand. Thousands and thousands of people, new people, glorify her name. A new name, to match a new world.

All know of the black shadow that trails behind her footsteps, but none dare make mention of him. The names of the divine are not meant for gossip — and for so many years of being unspoken, the name of the shadow is long since forgotten. Even she is not quite sure she knows it any longer.

He abandoned the man he was, but never found himself anew, and thousands of thousands of years have left nothing but a shadow. A vestige. An echo. He does not remember when he last spoke a word; he no longer has need of them.

The Golden Queen lowers her hand, and the butts of the army’s spears hit the golden tiles of the floor. Thousands and thousands of blows leave the ground quaking, the air shaking, the heavens trembling like thunder.

Thousands and thousands of men kneel.

The shadow turns to take his leave, translucent and intangible, his eyes never wavering from the golden marble underfoot. The soldiers part before him, each and every one of their heads bowed.

But the Golden Queen does not take her eyes from her people. She knows that, come the night, the shadow will return, as it has every time. And she will go to him with no golden cloak at her back, no golden breastplate on her chest, no golden combs studding her hair — no gold but that held by her eyes. Like every time, she will call him by that strange, long-forgotten name. And like every time, he will neither respond nor answer.

His eyes will remain on the stars, as they do every single night — and if the gleam of the moons appears to glint strangely on his scars, she will think it nothing but a trick of the light.

Perhaps, tonight, she will dare to try and touch him again. Perhaps, tonight, her hand will not pass through coils of black smoke.

Perhaps, tonight, she will manage to finally let him go.


	2. Chapter 2

She finally dares. Coils of black smoke trail after her hand, breaking the outlines of the already fuzzy silhouette.

She tries again. And again. And again.

She never quite succeeds. 

Her own spell ties her hands, so she comes up with a decision. To free the soul from a perfect body, she creates a new one. Even better. Almost flawless.   
It holds the might she holds herself, if not even more, yet it’s being controlled by nothing but her will.   
It costs her another few hundred years.   
It costs her almost nothing.

It’s the third time he finds himself in an artificial shell. But it’s the first time it does not obey him at all.   
Black smoke still shimmers in reflection when the Queen beckons him to the mirror. Only the eyes now gleam with a violet sheen again. He looks at it and does not recognize it. He looks at the reflection and does not recognize himself.   
But he still looks, trying to make out at least anything familiar. To look is all that is left for him.

The Queen throws a ball. The most exhilarating, most luxurious and generous that the Golden Palace has ever known. Hundreds of servants rush after hundreds of guests, hundreds of tables burst with food. Hundreds of soldiers in golden armor guard their peace.

This time the Queen will join her people. She rises from the throne and descends into the ballroom.   
Her eyes fall shut and almost all of the lights go out.

She raises a hand. Black smoke swirls around her and she feels a firm grip of his palm. Something aches under the ribs, painfully and bitterly. She smiles.

Hundreds of people step back in awe as the Shadow takes shape. Hundreds of people bow their heads.  
The Queen opens her golden eyes and waltz begins to play. Hundreds of people part as the gods spin in their crazy dance.

The Queen returns to the throne, catching her breath. Now the guests dance. She is happy, for a moment.   
But the Shadow stands beside her, indifferent and vacant. For some reason, it’s starting to burn inside her eyes. She brings her hand to the face – a single drop of water runs down the golden claw. She does not recognize nor recall of what it is.  
The Shadow puts a hand on her shoulder, obeying her will. She brushes her cheek against it. It feels warm, if only a little. It feels bitter, more than anything.   
The Queen closes her eyes and the Shadow falls apart with coils of smoke. She clenches her fists, piercing the palms with her claws. Red drips on the gold, drips on the silk, stains anything it touches. No one dares to make a sign they notice it.

They stand in front of the mirror.   
“Aren’t we beautiful?” she asks, resting her head on his shoulder.   
She made him tangible again. She made the smoke form clothes she wishes to see him wearing. She made him do what she wants.   
She made him a puppet. But she can’t make him talk.  
So the Shadow remains silent.  
Yet she asks again. And again. And again.  
Until her smile cracks and he disappears, dissolving in her arms. 

The Queen knows she doesn’t have much time left to do what she planned. As moons pass, she doubts more and more. To set him free is to be left alone, after all.   
Yet as moons pass, it hurts more and more to have him by her side. Any her wish is granted, any fantasy comes true dare she only think of it.   
What she ever wanted becomes what she hates. What drives her mad. And what she fears, eventually.  
So the day comes and the Queen disappears from her palace. 

They stand above where once was water. A world-old tale brought her here. A tale about war and love. A tale about human happiness. A tale about them, which none of them really remembers.   
Her hand shakes as she caresses his cheek. It feels bitter, if only a little. It feels burning, more than anything.

She makes him step closer, grinds her teeth and embraces him, hiding in his arms one last time.  
“Go, my love,” she whispers. 

An impulse passes and the Shadow takes a deep breath. His first one, since the New world started. 

He raises a hand. Black smoke swirls around him and he feels a familiar weight of a hilt. Something aches under the ribs, painfully and bitterly. He smiles.

He smiles as the dagger drowns between her ribs, as the blood pours down, as her body weakens in his arms.   
She only hugs him tighter. 

He waits a moment and steps back, watching the Queen falling to his feet. He feels nothing again. 

The wind brings cold air. A few apple blossom petals dance in it, catching his sight. He takes another deep breath. His last one, for this time. 

He exhales and dissolves into coils of white smoke. The wind catches him, caring and gentle. The petals float carelessly, blurring his sight and bringing his mind to sleep.   
He finally finds peace.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Shadow And The Golden Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004220) by [IrisPerea2004](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisPerea2004/pseuds/IrisPerea2004)




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